Poor OH had to depart early to work this morning, to schmooze with the elite and the distinguished of the environmental world. What did one birding man say to the other I wonder? ‘Nice pair of tits?’, ‘hooray for (blue footed) boobies?’ The list of puerile ornithological gags I could make here is fairly endless, so I shall now stop.

Hence the day began as fully my responsibility, even though OH had nicely laid out DB1’s Winnie the pooh breakfast bowl for me (in case I forgot to give DB1 breakfast? Before anyone contacts social services, I’ve NEVER done that. I may have been forced to provide him with breadsticks and raisins once when we had nothing else in, but that was it.)

Both boys were in a pleasant frame of mind, and the day progressed smoothly. A rare thing indeed. In fact, an entirely lovely time was spent in the library, reading books to both DB1 and DB2 (one giggling and laughing, the other drooling rabidly in enjoyment. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted it.) Ok, so DB1 threatened to throw an almighty strop if I didn’t read him ‘Rotten and Rascal’ five times in a row (I wouldn’t have minded so much, but there was something distinctly smug and self satisfied about the author’s tone that irked me, not to mention the strange illustrations… A punk ankylosaurus? A hippy iguanadon? But then a normal t-Rex. No consistency.) but other than that, it was enjoyable.

And then we stepped out of the library.

Or, just to be completely factually accurate here, I stepped out. DB1 suddenly decided it would be hilarious to bolt out of the electric doors as though someone had shoved a fire cracker up his tiny backside, which was made infinitely worse by the presence of a road outside. I managed to seize him by the hood and whisk him back- and of course, in true DB1 style, he threw himself backwards dramatically on the floor, made his eyes go all big and sad (think Bambi) and burst into woeful tears. It was a performance that Stanislavski himself would have welled up at, and given him a standing ovation. I myseld got awarded simply with some hostile glares by two nosey old biddies walking past, as though I was some sort of dreadful pikey mother who had just beaten her son up before sparking up a B&H and telling him to ‘shut the f**k up,(add your own favourite horrible child’s name here) Oh DB1!!

We then had the additional hilarity of the rain hitting us, when we were about ten minutes from home. (I want to know though, why does it always wait until I’ve got absolutely sod all place to shelter? Every time. I’m not joking! Clearly the rain has a personal vendetta against me.) Not just a bit of drizzle either, this was a full on torrential drencher of a storm. DB2 was of course alright, snuggled in his cosy foot muff and rain cover. In actual fact, DB1 wasn’t that badly off either, given that he was on the buggy board and was sheltered underneath the back of the pram rain cover. (not that you’d guess it from the despairing shrieking and the cries of ‘I don’t like rain! I don’t LIKE IT!!)

I, however, got completely and utterly soaked. See, this is the mad thing, when you are a parent. You literally have every provision under the sun for your children, sun cream if it’s sunny, rain covers if rainy, scarves and gloves for the cold, sun glasses for brightness, etc etc. But you never remember a single damn thing for yourself. Including in this instance, the basics. Such as a coat. And shoes. (I had flip flops. But they didn’t really stand the test against puddles as deep as my ankles.)

None the less, first priority on entering the house was to remove DB1’s slightly damp trousers and to remove a screaming DB2 from his warm stroller. All the while whilst red nosed, shivering and liberally dripping rainwater all over the floor. Ah, the lovely enjoyments of parenthood! And to then notice that the library books were not only exceedingly soggy, but two had been trailing in the dirty puddles. Uh oh…

I’m sure the library won’t notice. Will they? (I will get a reputation if I’m not careful. About two months ago, I accidentally smeared dog poo on one of their books. It was a genuine accident I swear, but one too long and complicated to explain. I did remove the book from the reach of children, I’d like to emphasise. Oh, there was also the time Danny ripped a page out of a book too…but I did a really good job mending it with some cello tape. Ahem. Actually, that’s happened three times, not just one. Maybe I should have called DB1 Briley after all. I’ll just go and crack open a special brew in celebration of my officially crap mothering skills shall I?)

I wish I could have a booze. And it’s only half one in the afternoon. (blush).

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